


Possible (9/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Debbie drops by</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (9/39?)

Part 9

Mickey opened the bedroom door to let Ian know he was home. "Hey. I'm -- Debbie?"

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, leaning against the headboard. As usual, Ian lay on his side facing the window, with his back to her.

"Mandy let me in."

Mickey glanced around the room, getting oriented to this new development. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"No school today."

The room was still dark. Mickey went over to the window and pulled open the curtain to let Ian get whatever sunlight he could through the grimy panes. In the new brightness, Ian's hair stood out against the white blanket.

"He talking to you?"

Debbie shook her head, making a little face. "No. But he's listening."

The bowl Mickey had left on the headboard was empty. He picked it up and turned it around in his hands. "Hey, Ian, you want some more soup? Or somethin' else?"

No answer, of course. The water glass was empty too, so Mickey took it into the bathroom and refilled it, then put it back on the shelf. 

Debbie looked up at him, and after a moment he shrugged and nodded. "I'll wait outside."

***

Mandy must have let Debbie in just before she left for work, because her room was empty now. Svetlana and Nika were arguing with Iggy and Tony in the living room so Mickey pulled a beer out of the fridge and went to the front porch, slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the post and lit a cigarette, trying not to think about what might come out of this visit. 

Maybe Ian would open up to his little sister. He had seemed to like her, hadn't he? Maybe he'd tell her what was bothering him. Would he tell her things he wouldn't tell Mickey? Would he tell her how shit Mickey was at taking care of him? Would he tell her he wanted to go home?

Mickey's hand was on the doorknob before he caught himself. If Ian wanted to go home, he could. It's not like all the Gallaghers could be banned from talking to him. They should be talking to him, and visiting him, and helping him, just as long as their idea of help didn't involve dragging him off to the nut-house.

He forced himself to wait until Debbie came outside, about half an hour later. She closed the door quietly as he looked up at her from the top step, where he was sitting now, and then surprised him by sliding down beside him.

"I know," Mickey said, to forestall her. "He ain't doing so great."

She shrugged a little. "I didn't expect him to be."

"So? He tell ya anything?"

"Not really. I asked if he wanted to go home, and I _think_ he shook his head. Anyway ... he didn't say he wanted to so I guess he had his chance."

"He say he wanted to get up?"

"No. Mickey, has he gone to the clinic yet?"

"No, man. I need to get him out of bed first."

For a moment she was quiet; then she said, "Maybe we should try."

"What -- now?" Mickey shot her a sharp look.

"He's awake, and he must be bored."

"And hungry." Mickey ground out his cigarette and stood up. "The nurse said we should get him outside if we can. Supposedly fucking _sunshine_ is good for him."

Debbie scanned the porch as though assessing how safe it was. "We might as well try."

"Even if we get him out here though -- he's not gonna be able to walk. Not right away. Can you get hold of a wheelchair or something?"

"Probably. Frank has one." She turned to face him. "What nurse?"

"I went to a clinic. They have some kinda program specially for people like him, right? She said they'll take him for free if I can get his ass up there." 

"Where is it? When's his appointment?"

"Up by the medical centre. Don't have an appointment yet - I'll get one when he's outta bed."

Debbie looked at him thoughtfully. "I can get you a ride, probably. My ex-boyfriend has a car."

"Boyfriend? How old are you -- _nine_?"

She gave him a sudden shove. "I'm thirteen, douche. Practically fourteen."

As they went inside, past the living room which was now empty except for Iggy, who had passed out, Debbie paused to tell him something. 

"I asked Fiona and Lip ... they said Monica was fine on her meds. Frank just didn't like it because she didn't want to get high with him any more. That's why he said she was a zombie."

Mickey snorted. "So not wanting to get shit-faced with a deadbeat lush makes you a zombie?" He pulled a chair away from the dining table and took it outside to the porch, leaving the door open when he came back. "Tell Ian that," he said to Debbie as he passed her on the way back.

Inside his bedroom, Mickey held back and let Debbie walk around the bed to where Ian was facing. She looked down at him, then up at Mickey and nodded slightly. "Ian," she said; and then again, more firmly. "Ian. I know you don't feel like it but ... you need to get up."

Ian didn't react at first, but after a second he seemed to groan a little, and turned over in the bed to face in the opposite direction, toward Mickey.

Mickey shrugged and gestured helplessly, still not willing to draw Ian's resentment onto himself. But Debbie had done it, and she was just a little kid. He had to back her up. "Come on, man," he began. He meant to sound cheerful and nonchalant but somehow it came out as pleading. "She's right. We need to get you out of here."

"No." 

Debbie and Mickey exchanged looks across the bed, while Ian shut his eyes. The protest had been more forceful than usual, which made Mickey strangely hopeful.

"Not an option, Gallagher. Look, it's not forever -- if you don't like it you can come right back. But you're gonna be -- like, permanently damaged if you stay in bed any longer. We gotta get you up, like it or not."

Debbie nodded, pressing her lips into a resolute line. "It's nice out today, Ian. We're just going to take you out to the porch for a few minutes so you can feel the sun."

They moved forward together, as though in sync, and Debbie pushed the covers down so they could each grab one of Ian's arms.

"Jeeze, Ian, you could really use a shower too," Debbie said, though Mickey didn't even notice that anymore. 

Together they pulled Ian forward to a sitting position, and Mickey slid an arm around his back so he didn't slip back down again. After a couple of moments to steady him, Debbie tugged Ian's legs toward the side of the bed and down, and she and Mickey positioned themselves on either side of him. She gave a nod and together she and Mickey lifted him upwards. 

Whether out or weakness or general agreement, Ian didn't actually resist their efforts, though he seemed unable to help much either. Mickey quickly ducked under Ian's arm so that he could support most of the weight. Heavy as it was, Mickey couldn't help enjoying the sensation of Ian's body against his -- hip, thigh, ribs touching. He felt Debbie's arm join his around Ian's waist and together they supported Ian's first tentative steps forward.

By the time they got to the front door, Ian was a little steadier on his feet. He stopped and squinted in the sunlight, and Mickey quickly kicked the chair he'd brought out further under the shade, and then he and Debbie released their grips and let Ian sink down onto the chair.

"Hold on, I'mma get him a drink," Mickey mumbled and went to the kitchen for a beer. When he got back, Debbie was sitting on the railing looking at Ian, who stared out into the street. Mickey handed him the drink.

"That's good, Gallagher. You did good," he said, trying to sound encouraging.

Ian seemed to drag his gaze back up to them. He nodded faintly at the steep porch steps. "Don't know how I'm gonna get down there."

"One thing at a time, man," Mickey said with relief. "Gettin' outside was the first step."

"Jesus." Ian seemed to mumble to himself. "Used to run a six-minute mile. Now I can barely walk ten feet."

"Fuck walking ten feet," Mickey said, unable to restrain himself. "You're _talking_."

Debbie looked up at him with a sudden grin and he couldn't help grinning back at her, almost dizzily.

"Fuck you both," Ian grunted, and Mickey could hardly have been happier.


End file.
